Chapter Eighteen
PHYLLIS WAS WAITING for them when they got home.
‘Thank goodness you’re back, dear. Mrs Makepiece rang. She wants to change the date of the party.’
Hetty wished she could faint and stay unconscious long enough to necessitate having to be carried away on a stretcher to somewhere where she was spoken to in low voices and given sips of iced water. A moment with her eyes shut told her this wasn’t going to happen.
‘Oh, God. I’d better ring her.’
‘You’d better. I told her it would be very difficult, not to say impossible. She’s in a bit of a state.’
She was. It was some moments before Hetty managed to find out what date she wanted the party changed to. Before that she had to hear Mrs Makepiece’s profuse apologies for being so stupid as to have muddled up the date of her wedding anniversary with her nephew’s wedding. ‘It’s my new glasses, dear. They make it very difficult to see,’ she explained eventually.
‘It’s an easy mistake to make,’ Hetty lied diplomatically. ‘So, when would you like your ruby-wedding party?’
‘Oh, you mean you may still be able to do it? I thought the arrangements had gone too far.’
They had indeed gone too far to be cancelled. ‘I’m sure we could rearrange, slightly,’ said Hetty.
‘In that case, what about the Sunday? The second of June, instead of the first?’
‘That would be fine,’ said Hetty.
‘I can’t tell you how relieved I am,’ said Mrs Makepiece, and proceeded to do so for some five minutes. And although she added that she’d send Hetty a cheque for part of the amount early, out of gratitude for her forbearance, Hetty decided she’d believe this only when she saw it.
She hoped fervently that she would. The dreaded third of June, when the loan had to paid off, seemed to get nearer with every breath. Could she ask Mrs Makepiece to pay in cash? No. That sort of woman wouldn’t have cash to pay the milkman. If only she could have asked Connor how much he had earned on his last trip. But somehow she couldn’t. He was determined that the house could never pay its way, and that selling it was the only way out. Admitting that the ruby wedding might not earn quite enough was giving him the perfect opportunity to sneer.
Unfortunately, even having to make a few dozen telephone calls, informing everyone about the change of date, didn’t make it possible for her to avoid Phyllis completely. Having asked tenderly about Samuel, she bluntly demanded whether Hetty had insisted on Connor getting the house listed.
‘It’s not that simple, Phyllis.’ Hetty tried not to sound pleading. ‘I mentioned it to Samuel, and he said he knew it wasn’t listed, and, what’s more, it was something to do with him that it got left off. I pointed out that was rather dangerous, but he insisted he didn’t want Connor’s life ruined by the house, and if he wanted to knock it down he should be able to.’
‘Oh, dear. This does complicate things rather. He wouldn’t care to leave the house to you, would he?’
Hetty shook her head. ‘I have appalling taste in men.’
‘Peter’s not appalling! He’s a very nice young man. One of the best.’
Hetty looked at her fingers. ‘He’s not quite to my taste. I suggested Samuel left the house to you,’ she went on quickly, ‘but he wouldn’t leave it out of the family.’
‘Of course not. Quite right too. Besides, I’m far too old. It needs to go to a young person with lots of energy.’
‘And lots of enthusiasm, which Connor most definitely has not got.’
Phyllis thought for a moment. ‘But Samuel doesn’t want the house destroyed? It seems silly to ask but I feel I have to check.’
‘Oh, no. But he wants Connor to come round to his own way of thinking voluntarily, without being bullied by red tape.’
Phyllis made a disgusted noise. ‘Where on earth did Samuel get ideas like that from? It sounds to me like a newfangled way of bringing up children. A lot of damn psychological nonsense when a quick smack would do far more good.’
‘If you hold him, I’ll smack him,’ said Hetty. It seemed to her that Phyllis had forgotten for a moment whom they were dealing with.
Phyllis chuckled. ‘Well, you know what I mean, dear. But if we can’t deal with him straightforwardly, we’ll have to employ psychobabble.’
‘I hope you’re not including me?’
‘Well, I am. You’ll have to tell him what Samuel said. Apply a lot of moral pressure, and’ – Phyllis’s eyes took on a gleam, either reflected from the copper saucepan she was cleaning or from pure mischief – ‘throw in the thought that it might actually be illegal not to have your house listed.’
Hetty shook her head. ‘It sounds like a threat. He’ll never respond.’
Phyllis at last put down the saucepan. ‘In that case, my dear, you’ll have to appeal to his better nature.’ Her expression implied he hadn’t got one.
If only, thought Hetty, I could tell Phyllis about the loan, and Connor about the listing, and then retire and watch the fireworks from a safe distance. ‘I’ll try,’ she said. ‘When I next see him.’ And resolved that this wouldn’t be for a very long time. She was heartily grateful now that she was spending the evening with Caroline.
But Hetty couldn’t avoid Connor for ever and when inevitably they fetched up in the kitchen together she did her best to appear her normal self. Though quite what was normal, she wasn’t sure.
He was cooking something. There was a steaming saucepan on the stove, a pile of shredded green stuff on a chopping-board on the table, and a large knife stippled with herbs next to it. Connor was humming to himself – one of Hetty’s favourite songs. She took this to be a good omen and decided to broach the L subject, as she had come to think of it.
‘Delicious smells as usual, Connor.’
He looked up from a sauce he was beating hell out of. ‘What do you want?’
‘Nothing. Just commenting, favourably. Are you going to eat it all yourself or share it with me?’
‘Would I let my favourite uncle’s favourite – what is it? – second cousin three times removed starve?’
‘Probably. Shall I set the table?’
He nodded. Hetty also did quite a lot of washing up of the saucepans and little bowls which Connor had used, knowing she wouldn’t be there to wash up later. When they were both sitting down to plates of stuffed chicken breasts and spinach she decided to plunge straight in. Caroline would be there to collect her in an hour, so she had a means of escape.
‘I was talking to Samuel . . .’ she began, hesitantly.
‘I know. I was there.’
‘He was telling me that he wanted you to like Courtbridge House.’
‘But he wasn’t telling you that he thought anyone could make me like it.’ It was a statement, not a question.
Hetty loaded her fork. ‘No. He hoped you’d come to like it. On your own.’
‘If I was ever here on my own, I’d have a better chance.’
Hetty put down her knife and fork. ‘Connor, if you want me to go, just say the word. You’re here to look after things now –’
‘Shut up, woman, and eat your dinner. Of course I don’t want you to go. I couldn’t manage everything without you.’
This accolade steered Hetty away from awkward subjects for the rest of the meal. It was only when she had a mere ten minutes before Caroline was due that she dared bring one up again.
‘Connor, I don’t know if you know this but, strange as it may seem, by some fluke or mistake, this house isn’t listed.’
‘Of course I knew that. It means I can pull it down if I want to.’ His expression became worryingly smug, as if he might pull it down with his bare hands just as soon as he’d had his coffee and brandy.
‘But Samuel doesn’t want the house pulled down.’
‘We’ve been over all this. What are you getting at?’
Hetty shut her eyes and plunged in. ‘The thing is, Phyllis knows – has discovered – that it isn’t listed. And if you don’t get it listed, she will.’
Connor rose from the table, appearing to grow in stature as his anger grew. ‘And just how did she find out?’
‘It’s not secret information, Connor. Anyone can find out if they look in the right place.’
‘Who told her, Hetty?’
There was no point in telling him it wasn’t her. ‘No one told her, but, indirectly, because of me, she found out.’
‘Oh. Would you care to enlarge on that statement?’
‘Not really, but I might as well. James Taylor, who I met at that dinner party, came round, and he told me it wasn’t listed. He left me a message about it, which Phyllis took.’
‘You mean, he wasn’t just here on a social visit?’
‘Well, yes and no. He came because I asked him.’
‘And you didn’t just ask him for the pleasure of his company?’
Hetty sighed. ‘I asked him to look at the house so he could tell me whether or not it was in such bad condition that pulling it down was the only option.’
‘And?’
‘He said it was a wonderful house, and that we ought to open your bedroom.’
‘He also told me, because I asked him to check, that the house wasn’t listed.’
Connor came round the table at terrifying speed, but adrenalin got her to the door even faster.
‘Come back here!’ he roared. ‘Where the hell do you think you’re going?’
‘To a Tupperware party. With Caroline!’
It was lucky for Hetty that Caroline was only ten minutes late. Hetty spent those minutes hiding round the corner of the house. She should have taken time to tidy herself up a bit.
‘Hey! What’s up with you?’ Caroline asked, as Hetty scrambled into the car. ‘You look like you’re fleeing from the Wrath of God.’
‘I am. It’s Connor. He’ll tear me limb from limb if he gets hold of me.’
‘That sounds exciting. Why?’
‘Because I finally told him – not terribly tactfully – that Phyllis had discovered the house wasn’t listed.’
‘Hell! How did she find that out?’
‘It’s a long story, but, indirectly, through me.’
‘Christ. And does Connor know that?’
Hetty nodded. ‘I told him.’
‘Blimey. No wonder you’re running away. Though I must say, having Connor angry with you might be rather delicious.’
Hetty shuddered. ‘I can’t think how.’
‘That’s because you’ve got no imagination.’ Caroline gave her a quick glance. ‘And you stink of Brasso.’
‘Oh hell, do I? I know I should have changed, but I wanted to get out of the house.’
‘Obviously.’
‘Could we go back to your place so I can at least wash my hands? Perhaps borrow something?’ Hetty was surprised she had to ask. Usually Caroline would have marched her into the shower by now.
Caroline shot her another look. ‘Well, I suppose we’ll have to, but we really mustn’t be long. I don’t want to be late.’
This was a turn-up for the books. Caroline was the sort of person who’d rather get to a party when it was half over than risk arriving not looking her best. It was Hetty who liked to be on time.
‘What’s this fixation with punctuality, all of a sudden? It’s not like you at all.’
‘I know, but I haven’t told anyone what sort of a party it is yet.’
‘It’s Tupperware, isn’t it?’
Caroline shook her head. ‘Naughty Knickers. And we really can’t have you going like that.’
Hetty spent some moments opening and shutting her mouth. ‘Do you mean to say,’ she said eventually, ‘that not only did you not tell me what sort of party we’re going to, but that you didn’t tell the hostess either?’
‘That’s about the size of it. I thought it better no one knew.’
As Caroline sped back to her house, and pulled a skirt and top off their hangers, Hetty reflected that she had had a hell of a day. The only way she could get through a Naughty Knickers party was to get dirty, rotten, stinking drunk.
Given the amount of wine that flowed throughout the evening, this shouldn’t have been difficult. But although Hetty drank at least her fair share, if not more, by the time Caroline was finally ready to leave she still felt boringly sober.
‘You’re a wretch, Caroline,’ she said, the moment they were in the car and out of earshot. ‘Not telling Amelia what sort of party it was.’
‘I did feel a bit guilty when I saw quite how raunchy the stuff was, but honestly, Amelia was thrilled. Everybody bought something, except you.’
‘I don’t have a man to please. I don’t have to waste my money on stuff like that.’
Caroline didn’t comment. ‘I’m going to have the goods Amelia was given in lieu of commission, and give her the money instead. I do have a man to please.’
‘Poor Amelia. Is her husband really dreadful?’
‘Yes, but I think they’ve got their relationship worked out. It might not be perfect, but it functions.’
‘That’s not a very romantic view of marriage.’
‘No, and it wouldn’t do for me. But it does for Amelia, or she would have left him.’ Caroline continued in agony aunt mode. ‘She’s swapped romance for security. Compromise is the key to a happy marriage.’
Hetty suddenly covered her mouth with her hand. ‘Oh, you’ve just reminded me.’
‘Of what?’
‘Keys. I forgot mine.’
‘Perhaps Connor will still be up.’
‘I do hope not. I’d rather break in than face him now. And it won’t be so easy since we had a security system installed. Damn!’
‘Would you like me to come in with you? I could help you up a drain-pipe or something.’
‘Oh, no. I couldn’t face a drain-pipe. I’ll have to find some way of getting in on the ground floor.’
‘I could help you jemmy open a window, then?’
‘No, no. It’s terribly late. You must get back. Just drop me off at the corner.’
‘I don’t think I should. I ought to see you safely home.’
‘You have, but I might not be safe if I wake his lordship.’
Caroline looked at her diamond-studded Cartier. ‘I shouldn’t think you will. I had no idea it was so late. It’s two o’clock. He’ll be in his deepest sleep.’
‘Just stop the car, there’s a dear. And thank you for a wonderful evening.’
‘It was fun, wasn’t it? If a little raucous. Do ring if you can’t get in.’
‘After I’ve walked to the village? Sure I will. Don’t worry, Caro, I’ll get in.’ Hetty climbed out of the car and closed the door as quietly as she could. ‘Byee!’
Caroline roared off with her usual panache, but, as they had stopped a little way away from the house, Hetty had hopes that Connor hadn’t been disturbed. As she got nearer, however, she saw that the kitchen light was on. Connor’s shape was visible moving from the table to the stove.
Well, no way was she going to face him, not at two in the morning. Besides, Caroline’s clothes had got her into awful trouble with Connor before. But Caroline’s talk of jemmying windows reminded her that there was one in the sitting room that had been missed by the man who’d fitted locks on the others. It looked locked, but could be lifted open if you had the knack. And as Hetty had spent a lot of time wondering how she could fix it, or if she’d have to get the man back, incurring even more expense, she had developed the knack.
Please don’t let the dogs hear me, she thought, and tiptoed up the path and round the side of the house. The smell of early roses scented the air, far stronger now than during the day, and petals fell as she pushed past them. Hetty, anxious that their thorns didn’t snag Caroline’s clothes, spent precious seconds unhooking them. A bit of drastic pruning was what was called for, she thought. And then changed her mind. As the window-lock was broken, what better defence against burglars than roses? They beat razorwire any day.
At last, she reached the window and got it open. Climbing in was easy, if undignified, and she managed to cross the room in the dark without difficulty. Congratulating herself on her resourcefulness, Hetty tried the door, but she couldn’t open it. All the shaking, pulling and lifting forced her to one conclusion – it was locked. Someone, probably Phyllis, must have discovered the window and locked the door so as to limit a burglar’s haul to just one room.
Knowing why it was locked didn’t make it any less frustrating. She leant against the door and swore silently. The last thing she wanted was Connor to hear her, think she was a burglar and knock her out. When he found out it was her, he might do something much worse.
She could climb out of the window, go round to the back of the house, knock on the door, and face Connor. But he would be bound to shout, and although the wine hadn’t made her drunk, it had given her a headache.
No, she couldn’t face Connor. She felt too weary. She switched on one of the table lamps and looked at the sofa. It had served her as a bed before, it could do so again. As long as she got up in the morning early enough. It wouldn’t do for Phyllis to discover her there.